“I must when it’s for your good, Miss Eve,” said Jessie, warmly; “and if the truth was known, I believe Mr Richard has had her carried off to London or somewhere.”
“It is impossible, Jessie,” cried Eve. “My cousin would never be so base.”
“Well, I don’t, know as to that,” retorted Jessie; “it’s base enough to be pretending to be engaged to one young lady, and carrying on with another.”
“Jessie!”
“Well, it’s the truth. A gentleman told me that he had often seen them together. Oh, Miss Eve, dear, I am sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”
She was down on her knees before her visitor directly after, begging her pardon, and kissing her, for Eve’s face had sunk in her hands, and she was sobbing bitterly. A minute before and she was ready to fight energetically on behalf of the man who was to have been her husband, but now her defences had been turned, and she gave up.
She soon dried her eyes though, and when Jessie would have turned the conversation to another point she resumed it herself.
“I’ve been thinking about that very, very much,” she said; “night and day—night and day.”
“Poor child!” said Jessie, stroking her face. “It must be terribly hard to feel jealous.”
“No, no, no, no,” said Eve, hastily. “I did not mean that; but about poor Daisy’s disappearance. You know they found her shawl and basket.”